


Butterflies

by surreyality



Category: Caduceus | Trauma Center Series
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Hemorrhagic Fever, Illness, Rosalia Virus, it's really nothing that wasn't in the game tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6854836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreyality/pseuds/surreyality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know the saying: a single flap of a butterfly's wings can cause a tsunami on the other side of the world. Sometimes, though, it hits a little closer to home. (Ficlet about Veronica Cage before she died.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> Someone got me to listen to L'Arc en Ciel and, well, fuck butterflies.
> 
> Sorry if the second half doesn't make much sense; it's not really supposed to.
> 
> Also, reusing a concept I started using in my other fic, The Year 2020. No need to read that; just know that the Rosalia Virus has a ghost of its own that appears to its victims via hallucination and is very self-aware.

It's a butterfly. Just one little butterfly.

It flutters across the sky, and you think it rather cute. Some people hate butterflies. Other people fear them. You can't understand those people. The butterfly is such an innocent creature; it begins humbly, as a caterpillar, and eats and eats until it's ready to undergo metamorphosis within the safety of its cocoon. From there, it emerges, and pollinates the flowers of the world.

Butterflies are beautiful creatures, you think, letting the butterfly land on your hand. But you don't get to hold it for long; you sneeze, and off it goes as you rub your nose.

You watch it flutter away. You don't notice the small scales, too small to see, fall into your eyes.

* * *

You love butterflies. You _love_ them.

So why does it hurt so much?

Why do you feel so much rage, sometimes, when you never did before?

_Rosalia,_ your mind whispers, but you know it's not your mind. It's the voice that appeared out of nowhere some time ago. Was it a few weeks? A month? More than that? You don't know anymore.

You stare at the mirror you shattered with your own hands. It's as broken as you are, knowing what you've done. You don't mean to hurt them. You can tell they're trying, so hard, for your sake, but you can't stop yourself. It has nothing to do with what you want.

The medicine's not working anymore. It did a little bit, at the start, but you haven't felt it take effect in so long that you don't even care to try anymore. You know you should, it'll keep you at bay just a little longer, but that's the problem, isn't it? You don't know how long you have.

You feel a cough coming on, and you don't stop it. Blood comes out, though, and you're worried.

Blood keeps coming. It hurts. It hurts too much. You're scared. So scared, you begin to scream.

"Mom! Dad!" you scream. You double over and fall off the bed. The pain gets worse, in your arms and in your lungs and in your head and everywhere else, really.

You try, with all your might, all your strength, to move. It takes everything you have just to get to your hands and knees, and you start crawling just before you hear your parents arrive at your door.

"Mom... Dad... Please...," you hiccup between fearful sobs and painful coughs. "I... I need..."

They look at you, they watch you crawl. Why? Why aren't they moving? Why won't they come to you?! Or reach for a phone!?

You keep crawling, and your mother takes a step back. You catch her expression, and your heart sinks.

She's afraid of you.

_You're a monster,_ the voice tells you, and you can't help but scream at it.

" _No_! Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!" you yell, your face contorting in some myriad of emotions you can't even begin to describe. "Stop talking to me!"

You keep crawling, inch by painful inch, desperation in your eyes as you look to your father, still frozen as he watches your struggle.

"Dad..." You cough again, hard, and your arms nearly give out, but you hold on. Just barely.

You look up. You're almost there. But the look in his eyes... No. No, oh no, no no no no no—

He slams the door shut.

You scramble, now, pain nearly forgotten in lieu of fear. They can't be doing this. They're your parents. They love you, right? They know it's not your fault, right?

You bang and claw at the door, unable to reach the knob. "No! Dad, no, please don't do this to me!"

You can feel the bones in your hands start to crack, see the nails of your fingers rip off from the force you use to scratch helplessly at the door.

The pain worsens, and you feel nauseous. It's getting hard to breathe.

These words are your last, you feel, and you beg whoever or whatever out there is listening that they won't be wasted, won't be in vain.

"It hurts!" you gasp out. "Mom, Dad... H-help me...!"

You choke and gag, then vomit. You think you see something fluttering in the corner of your eye, and can't help but think, irrationally —

Butterflies aren't so cute, after all.

(Above you, the virus smirks, a butterfly on her right shoulder, as it's been every other time you saw her.)

**Author's Note:**

> Idk. If anyone wants me to write the in-between, sure, but I'm not doing it if no one asks =P


End file.
